Tomorrow Will Be Kinder
by lockXandXkey
Summary: AU: The Final Battle and what comes of it. "Arthur was not expecting it."


**Title: Tomorrow Will Be Kinder**

**Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Action, I-don't-even-know**

**Characters/Pairings: Arthur, Merlin, Mordred**

**Summary: The Final Battle and what may come of it. "Arthur was not expecting it."**

**Warnings: Possible character death**

**Rating: T for violence**

**A/N: I've been going through a major "Merlin" phase, seeing as the entire series ends in, oh, several hours. This is simply my take on what may – and most likely will not – happen during the final battle between Arthur and Mordred. I honestly wrote half of this in the car and half of it after taking my exams, so that's why it is so completely illogical at some parts. Apologies for that. Also, if you want a soundtrack to this, I wrote part of it while listening the song "Tomorrow Will Be Kinder" by The Secret Sisters. And fandom…. It's been fantastic.**

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It only took a moment. A single heart-thump, a blink of an eye, the time it takes for the lungs to inhale much needed oxygen.

Arthur was not expecting it.

What he was expecting was a sword thrust through his chest, wielded by a man he had once called brother, friend. He expected pain, hard, blinding pain, then imminent death. Oh yes, he expected death. He had for a while now, ever since this final battle had begun. There was no stopping it, and Arthur, he knew it. No more reasons to fight, no more reasons to prolong the drop of his crown, falling, falling, and landing perfectly upon his sister's raven head.

But this did not happen.

Rather, when the King of Camelot fell to his knees, wounded, and closed his eyes in defeat, bracing for the inevitability… He felt nothing. However, what he heard was a winded gasp of pain and a surprised grunt, the sound of a sword slicing through something effortlessly, like cutting butter with an axe.

Arthur opened his eyes.

The sword protruded from a slender, blue-clad back, hands gripping Mordred's chainmail shoulders, head bent and body tight against the pain. Mordred, in his own right, looked stunned, grey eyes wide, mouth open, taken aback by this person who so willingly threw his remaining days between Arthur and the lethal weapon.

On Arthur's part, there was only shock, at first. Then, as the sword was mercilessly ripped back and Arthur's savior stumbled, horror. Mordred's shock dissipated into an odd cross between certainty, regret, and anger. He thrust the young man away, regret vanishing.

A sudden hiss of serpentine words, a flash as blue eyes turned gold, and Mordred was thrown back, away from Arthur, away from the savior.

Arthur quickly stumbled to his feet, pain radiating from the wound in his right shoulder, inflicted by Mordred. He staggered to the black haired man who had just saved his life, a single word on his lips:

"_Merlin…_"

Arthur's gloved fingers gripped his friend's shoulder, and Merlin weakly reached up to grab Arthur's breastplate as his knees began to buckle. Arthur automatically swept his left arm around his savior's waist, winching at the blood, the wound, the certain death. Merlin in turn wrapped his arm around Arthur's waist, and the two stumbled, involuntarily weighing each other down, away from Mordred and away from The End. They lurched toward a bunker, a hundred meters away, where the unspoken hope was that the remaining knights were stationed there.

The third time Merlin's knees buckled and he slid from Arthur's grasp, he did not get back up. His eyes, like pieces of the sky, were tired, lacking their typical fire and excitement and determination.

"Arthur, go. Leave me. Please."

A moment of hesitation, then an answer that rang out in finality.

"No."

Silence again, aside from the scattered battles, thankfully far enough away that the enemies had yet to see the wounded Arthur, but close enough that they were a worry.

"Arthur, please, you are King, if you die, Camelot –"

"Merlin. I will not leave you."

Merlin did not move. He sighed loudly, exhaustion seeping into his features, and looked down, mumbling something.

"What?"

"I said I'm sorry."

"For what?"

No answer. Merlin began shaking, arms trembling, teeth chattering.

Arthur took a deep breath, inhaling smoke and death, reached down to grab Merlin's arm again, and said, "Come on, Merlin, we're almost there. If we get to the bunker, then perhaps –"

"I'm sorry for not telling you."

Arthur froze in mid-pull.

"I should've told you ages ago. I'm… I'm sorry. It's not that I didn't trust you, I just… I couldn't. And I'm so sorry for that, Arthur."

Swallowing, Arthur resumed dragging Merlin back to his feet, ignoring his friend's hiss of pain.

"Don't be stupid. Now come on."

Merlin grudgingly began stumbling arm-in-arm with Arthur again, closer and closer to the bunker. Several more times Merlin tripped, and every time, Arthur kept him from falling. After what seemed like hours, but was only mere minutes, they arrived at the bunker, which was despondently vacant of any knights.

Merlin slid from Arthur's grasp and collapsed a final time, leaning back against the dirt and rocks. Arthur sat down next to him, tilting his head back and closing his eyes against reality.

"Do you remember when we met?" asked Arthur abruptly. Merlin slowly turned his head and gazed at Arthur's profile.

"Of course. We practically killed each other."

Arthur let out a hollow laugh, allowed a small smile to twist across his lips. "That we did."

A moment of silence.

"Look at us now, Merlin."

Merlin turned his face away and closed his eyes tightly, face screwing up, allowing, for only a second, all the pain to flood him: the fear, the loss, the grief, all of it expelling in a single torn sob.

"Just look at us now."

When Merlin finally peeled his eyes open again, he saw the enemy soldiers led by none other than Mordred, sprinting towards the bunker, swinging their weapons, roaring like a tidal wave about to crush the King of Camelot and his faithful servant.

Arthur seemed to notice them as well, and he straightened up, slapping a hand against Merlin's shoulder. Their gazes met, and Arthur seemed to read Merlin's mind, hear that unanswered plea.

"I've suspected it for a while now. That is why you do not have to apologize. I have known. And it makes no difference. I'm… I'm proud to have you next to me now, Merlin."

Merlin swallowed. "And I'm proud to be by your side, sire."

Merlin staggered to his feet, swallowing the pain, trying to conserve energy for the battle about to take place. Arthur raised his sword, eyes narrowing, jaw tightening, putting on a mask of bravery. As he did so, Merlin raised his hands, spells and enchantments running through his mind like rushing water. He glanced at Arthur, at his friend, his king, whose blonde hair was damp with blood – though whose blood was anyone's guess – and spoke one last time, as the enemy attacked, a thin smile reaching his eyes:

"Just look at us now."

**The End.**


End file.
